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for Emily D.
because I would not yield to lies
truth kindly shielded me;
conveyance held but just ourselves
and eternity
we slowly passed between the worlds
anon and then
we wondered -- how this came to be
over -- over yet again
until we passed, where children
learned -- the lies of life
-- unavailing truth did cry
evasion fencing, equivocations rife
passed, we did -- stoned halls of men
agenda --  to forever quibble
danced a dance all round the truth
that ne’er gets a nibble
pounded gavel in courts of law
judges bought
-- lowest bidder
acting out the plot
time does pass
canards are hatched a’ plenty
conveyance held but just ourselves
to infinity.
17 August 2013

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I would be so very happy if you would pay a visit to this FREE-TO-READ website book of 25 short stories for adults with illustrations. There is a FB 'like' button on the site.

As you might expect I have had to disable FB comments for the site BECAUSE of the endlessly boring behaviour of kids still stuck playing pass the brain cell. However for those of us who are not brain challenged there are ways of commenting.

I firmly believe now, after numerous disappointments caused by the self-affirming community, that this is the future of net publishing. Most real books in the hand may as well be tucked in the dark of your tush. LOL.
If you truly believe in it- then give it away. The work, if it merits it, will map out its own future because the internet is a vast device for constructive progress and, as ever, the cream will rise to the top. [Cheesy but true]
To clatter out another cliche- should my 'precious' art be stolen so be it: imitation is the best form of flattery, LOL. [Try imitating how I write- I wish you luck.] Equally, in the event that someone re-publishes me under their moniker a la Kathy Acker then the following court cases will bring me vast publicity and sales.

My raison d'etre for writing is to happily vent the noise from head- I am a hideously old student of the ways of mankind and enjoy reporting what I have found to be true in ways that can hold a mirror up to you.

I do not make a living out of it- nor do I recognise that criteria as a measure of merit.

My fiction reflects, through various characters, my great dislike of all ists and isms. I believe in a gender neutrality as opposed to those stereotypes constantly flouted by capitalist enterprise. I totally adore women who can see and vocalise or write about the transparency and folly of feminism- that does not make me a misogynist by any rational definition and you're calling me that, erroneously, will betray your innate misandry. Laughable.

That I have a sexual preference for men is no secret. With that life choice comes a degree of rejection of those things that women hold dear. Oh very dear- live with it. I would be stupid to ever feel the need to apologise for that. There are inarguably as many evil, boring, bigoted women in this sorry world as there are men. Fact. It may well be that the majority of those have open facebook accounts. There are days here when it certainly seems so. LOL.

I migrated to Facebook from the vile demise of MySpace and a similar disease is squeezing the vivid creative life out of increasingly dull here. Twitter and Google+, used in concert, have the drop on Zuckerberg's bastard offspring, birthed in such criminality.

Enjoy the book. It pulls no punches anywhere. Have smelling salts to hand or 'poppers'.

Thank you again to all my genuine FB friends and contacts. And thank you to my gazillions of FB frenemies- without you life would be far less irritating BUT much less comedic.' CM 


Peck pecking-
small blue raptors at the seed station:
their easy flights of fact and less than easy interaction
worthy of prolonged observation, a word song.

And there, see, on the honeysuckle flower,
the improbable wobble of a bumbly bee landing-
all of it beyond our engineers feeble understanding.

Above me, in a languid sky hesitating to be bright,
the flight-path to Gatwick airport slices
with its many knives of several unpleasant vices:
a cruel discharge of aviation fuel
that hats our Koi pond with a horror film;
vast chunks, so much desperate metal machinery,
being obscenely gleaming, runts of our overblown arrogance;
all the cunts in government doing everything
in defiance of nature's better nature.

Sad [but I am glad]
we cannot still command the rain or harness lightning-
and somewhat frightening the way the birds
trill their miraculous innate skills
despite our desperate mimicry, our demi-god fuss-
the murderous absurdity of us.

We will never better all the better things that we are not.

Chris Madoch. Copyright 2013. All Rights Reserved.

rain Weeps sympathy
rain Weeps  sympathy
reaching ‘Cross footlights of stage
lumps of Clay animate
play their Parts --
Crimson -- trouble Never gazed upon
grasses -- sway Green in -- playwright’s -- Mind
directors/producers cast eyes --
the Script
Flawed as Faberge eggs
Words minted in mixed -- emotions
no mistakes
no coincidences
scarlet wind flows over
-- ancient ground
blows smidgens of dust
Obtrude Sun’s -- Light
rain Weeps sympathy
rivulets of Muddy dust
stage’s Furnace -- players slip, burn --
omit, overlook lines of Speeches
becomes improvisation
-- Script out the window
director powerless
producer tears Hairless Scalp
playwright applauds
through tears
-- premonitions befuddle inspiration’s
rain Weeps sympathy.
19 August 2013

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